


Frustration by Madison

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew he should stop watching.  This video couldn't possibly have been meant for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frustration by Madison

  
The vibration of the cell phone, alerting him to an email, caught John while he was in the middle of shooting all the brass with his finger-gun, hidden under the cover of the briefing table.

He'd been mentally adding a _ka-pow!_ with every jerk of his hand when the Blackberry on the table began to buzz, gently vibrating sideways as he stared at it. The Blackberry had been a recent concession, a personal admission that Atlantis wasn't going anywhere any time soon. In fact, that wasn't entirely true. Atlantis wasn't going anywhere at all; she was being carved up into itty-bitty bits, by one government organization after another, one piece at a time, the way tourists used to bring home bits of the Parthenon until the Greek government put a stop to it.

Pity there was no Lantean government to stop the SGC, the IOA, Area 51, and their ilk.

  
 _Oh yes, there is,_ his voice whispered to him. It was the voice he thought of as the Sarcastic Lt. Colonel. The voice that saved his ass and got him into trouble in equal measures.

He chose to ignore the voice and idly consider whether anyone would care if he checked his messages on his cell during the meeting. Buying the Blackberry had been somewhat of a last straw, he realized. He'd resisted any sort of phone at all, had made do with a Trak phone for a while, and then finally walked into a Verizon store and purchased a Blackberry. The sales clerk had tried to talk him into one of the touch screen models—the whatsit—the Droid? He'd been tempted in a _'it's R2D2'_ kind of way, but in the end had gone with the more familiar cell. What killed him was the two-year contract.

Signing it meant he was accepting that Atlantis was never going back to Pegasus.

It had become his worst nightmare. He'd suspected right away, from the moment the city splashed down in the Bay, that getting Atlantis back to Pegasus was going to be a battle. He just never thought it would be something debated in endless committees while various branches of the SGC and its allies argued logically for the removal and study of this piece of equipment or that bank of data. He never thought he'd have to sit and watch as irreplaceable parts of his city trundled out on the backs of others, like ants stealing food from a picnic while he was powerless to do anything about it.

He'd almost have rather seen Atlantis destroyed in the manner that had been his nightmare for most of his tenure as military CO there. Almost. At least, this way, the City, his friends, his substitute _family,_ had survived. The dreams that he used to have about the Wraith sucking them dry or him standing on the wrong side of a force field while everyone else was exposed to the vacuum of space or radiation or a Replicator attack were now a distant possibility.

  
 _There was a time when you thought watching Rodney marry Jennifer might be your worst nightmare._

He mentally flipped the Sarcastic Lt. Colonel the bird.

Talk, talk, talk. That's all the brass ever did. Endless discussions about what to do with Atlantis, how to hide Atlantis, whether they _should_ hide Atlantis. Public disclosure or not? Send Atlantis back to Pegasus or not? Keep the expedition team intact or break it up and replace it with new members? (John had listened to them wear themselves out on that one for several hours before he was asked his opinion. He said only, "Learning curve," and the topic was shelved for the day.) Now they were down to 'keep Atlantis intact or not' and it was killing him. He'd known the longer they stayed on Earth, the less likely they were to return, and he'd had to make a choice: stay on and watch them continue to bite chunks out of Atlantis, like sharks at the corpse of a whale, or take his twenty and go.

He couldn't go. Not if there was even a remote possibility that Atlantis might go back home to Pegasus. He'd rather watch them chop up the city, taking bits of his soul in the process, rather than walk away. _A bit like watching Rodney go after Jennifer, eh?_

He told the Sarcastic Lt. Colonel to STFU. Though it did occur to him, he spent most of his life wanting things he could not have. Even if it meant sitting through interminable meetings such as this one, where his actual, physical presence had been demanded. Hadn't these guys ever heard of conference calls? There was a little niggling worry that he would find out at the end of this trip that he'd been reassigned. He had no idea what he'd do if that indeed was the case.

The phone chirped at him with a blooping sort of noise; a text had followed the email it would seem. He eyed the phone as though it was a child's stuffed toy, begging him to reach out and squeeze the spot on its arm that said _'Touch me.'_ Unable to resist, he pulled the phone out its protective sleeve. The screen opened automatically to the text.

  
 _Check your email,_ it read. It was from Rodney. John sighed. He was sure that Rodney was messaging him about getting together sometime during this trip and if John possibly could, he would make it happen. He just wasn't looking forward to it. Rodney had been going back and forth between Atlantis, Area 51, and the SGC; John hadn't seen much of him for a couple of months now. It was just one more thing in a long list of disturbing circumstances that had every instinct screaming at him, telling him that Atlantis was doomed. The other scientists were being called hither and yon as well; apparently, now it was his turn.

He checked his email. The newest message was from an unknown address. Odd. What was Rodney up to now? When he clicked on the email, it opened to the following message: _This link will only be active for 5 minutes from receipt of this email. Download it now, or lose it forever._ A short link was provided below the text.

John couldn't help the little grin that stole across his face. Rodney was definitely up to something, of that he was sure. The 'what' didn't matter. It had been a while since Rodney had played any sort of game with John. He glanced at his watch. He was going to have to risk it if he wanted to see what Rodney had in mind for him. He pulled his laptop over within reach, opened it, and woke it out of sleep mode. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the tabletop as he waited for the browser to open and the email service to come up.

"Are we boring you, Colonel Sheppard?" Landry's expression was sour, as though he'd bitten into a pickle when he'd been expecting a strawberry, and John recognized that this was often the expression Landry directed at him.

John frowned slightly, doing his best to look serious and full of important business. "My apologies, General. A small but urgent matter that I need to attend to right away."

The General raised an eyebrow but gave him grudging consent to carry on with a short nod. John knew that the General suspected John of doing something completely frivolous and unrelated to the matters at hand and, as often was the case, the General was right.

The link took John to some sort of upload site where a file named JustForYou.avi was waiting for him, should he chose to download it. _What the hell,_ he thought, as he clicked on the button. The site did a countdown of 45 seconds for the non-premium download (like he was going to spend any money on this) and then began streaming the file to his laptop. It made him feel as though he were doing something wicked and potentially career ending and that feeling amused him as he sat and listened to the brass drone on and on.

He closed the laptop when the file had completely downloaded and placed the cell in his pants pocket, as though it was likely to be a further source of disobedient behavior. All throughout the rest of the meeting, he kept feeling what Craig Ferguson referred to as the Phantom Cell Phone Vibration; he was sure the phone was buzzing in his pocket, though when he was finally able to check it again, no further messages had come in.

He tried very hard not to heave a sigh of relief when he was finally dismissed. There went another four hours of his life he'd never get back again. At least the General had not asked him to stay behind; he was dreading any sort of private discussion that Landry might want to raise with him.

  
In a fit of pique at having been asked to come back to the SGC, John had taken the minimal stipend allowed for getting a room off base and had opted for a cheap hotel in town. On-base housing was at a premium and he'd been glad to take the option. John noted wryly that he was no longer treated like a VIP by the SGC and he thought that probably reflected a change in Atlantis' status as well. As soon as he could, he got into his rental and headed into town. The sun was sinking down over the skyline as he drove, tinting the trees alongside the road with red and gold.

He wasted no time setting up the laptop once he'd checked into the hotel room. The generic d馗or was cheap but clean, though he wished they hadn't used the overpowering air freshener. He tossed his duffle bag aside, concentrating on plugging in the power cords and starting up the operating system again, opening the window just a crack and cranking the fan while the system booted up.

This was going to be good—he just knew it. He settled himself in the chair in front of the desk and popped the top on a can of soda before he went to the download menu and pulled up the file.

When it opened in RealPlayer, Rodney was onscreen, futzing with a camera obviously set up on a tripod. He hurriedly sat down in a chair in front of the camera, looking flushed, excited, and embarrassed all at once and John was immediately intrigued. He loved seeing Rodney like this, though he would never admit it, not now, anyway.

"Okay," Rodney said when he was seated. He adjusted his position nervously several times before he settled down. "I know we talked about this at one time and never followed through on it. I know, too, that you know what an incredibly... okay, never mind. I'm this close to losing my nerve as it is." Rodney held up a thumb and forefinger, pinched close together for reference. "I suppose you think that's funny, don't you?" He glared at the camera.

Rodney had lost weight in the last several months, John realized. He had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, Rodney looked good, damned good. On the other hand, the fact that he'd lost weight seemed to say something negative about his time in Pegasus. John knew that Rodney was a stress-eater and god knew there was plenty to be stressed about in Pegasus. Seeing him so much thinner now, with his pointy chin having regained prominence, and his body going from sturdy to lean, was startling, to say the least. John could only hope that it had been Rodney's decision to lose weight; there was something very wrong about the idea of Rodney losing weight at Jennifer's urging, forgoing Cheez Doodles and Mountain Dew after years of dreaming in loving detail about consuming them again, should they ever come back to Earth.

  
Well, they were on Earth now. On camera, Rodney was saying something that John had missed and was taking off his shirt.

  
 _He was taking off his shirt._ This part suddenly registered with John and he leaned in, touching the mouse to activate the sound controls and turn up the volume.

"I've been thinking about this a lot," Rodney was saying, looking into the camera with a sort of smoldering expression as he unbuttoned his blue-striped shirt. John's cock lifted slowly in his pants as he watched. He realized now that Rodney had a bottle of lube and a box of tissues within easy reach and his breath caught. Surely, Rodney wasn't thinking...not on _camera._ Not _Rodney._ Apparently, he was, and John began to breathe faster at the idea. "It's just been so damn frustrating, these last few months," Rodney said, frowning. John could tell from his expression that he was becoming angry, that he was in danger of going off on a rant and forgetting all about why he'd set up the camera in the first place.

"No, no," John murmured, leaning forward to speak to the screen. "Go back to the 'you've been thinking' part."

"I've been watching as the SGC cannibalizes Atlantis," Rodney said, shrugging out of his shirt and dropping it to the floor beside his chair. He was wearing a white t-shirt underneath; the shirt looked surprisingly good on him, showcasing his broad shoulders but also his pecs and his always-prominent nipples as well. John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and adjusted his cock where it lay, full and heavy, in his pants.

"Taking it apart bit by bit." A look of pain flared up on Rodney's face only to have it snuffed out again with an expression of sneering anger. "They have no intention of letting us go back. You know it and I know it. They're already starting to break up the expedition; sending members back and forth, as though we wouldn't notice when some of these people start getting permanent reassignments."

Rodney slouched down a little in his seat, cupping his package as he did so. John watched in fascination, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, even as a part of him whispered, _this wasn't meant for you. There's been some sort of mistake._

"I thought about all that we'd survived together, all that we'd been through. It's not right. They treat us like we're some kind of spoiled brats that were accidentally given charge of a serious project, like we're the kids from _Space Camp_ , for crying out loud! As though we were never meant to have control over something as big as Atlantis and that we're just the misfits and fuckups they sent to Pegasus on the off chance we'd bring them back something useful. And you know what, we _have._ "

John caught his breath at Rodney's angry words, feeling the truth of them to his core.

"I've been thinking about us, too," Rodney said, his voice deepening in pitch. He began to massage his cock through his khaki pants. He dropped his chin and looked up puckishly at the camera. John felt a corresponding throb in his own cock and he slumped down in his seat, letting his thighs fall open as his hand came to rest casually on his crotch.

"They're starting to scatter us. Everything is changing," Rodney said in a voice that was two parts bitter and one part sorrow. "It's put things in perspective for me. Things I didn't want to think about or refused to acknowledge before."

  
 _You should turn this off._ John recognized the truth of this thought with an ache that felt every bit as real as the time he'd been pinned in the collapsed debris of Michael's lab, with a three-foot piece of rebar jammed into his abdomen. Before he could act on the thought, however, Rodney stood up and unzipped his fly, pushing pants and boxers down below his knees and sitting back down in the chair. John realized now that the camera had been positioned to make sure Rodney's cock took center stage.

There was no way he could turn off the camera now. He wasn't strong enough; he was only human, after all. As he watched, Rodney reached over for the bottle of lube, pouring out a small amount into his palm and applying it to his cock with the same concentration he'd shown when reloading his gun after emptying it into the ten thousand year old Wraith.

It had been, and was now, one of the hottest things John had ever witnessed. He never got tired of that look, and something inside him regretted that he couldn't remember the last time Rodney had aimed that look at him.

Rodney made a small sound and hitched his hips forward in his chair, palming his cock from balls to tip in a firm grip, twisting a little at the end. His eyes, now fixated on the camera, closed to half-slits, and John vividly recalled that look from the times that it had been up close and personal with him. He breathed hard while he stared at Rodney, riveted on the movement of Rodney's hand, and the way his cock was getting redder and slicker by the second.

John suddenly lunged forward, sending the mouse skating across the desktop until he could control its movement, dragging it back to the video and clicking on the 'stop' button. His cock was pressing hard against his zipper; it felt heavy and hot as he moved stiffly towards the duffle and rummaged through it urgently until he found what he was looking for. Making a small noise of satisfaction when he found the pocket-sized bottle of lube, he hurried back to the chair, shoving his BDUs and boxers down hastily, leaning forward to hit 'play' before sitting back, and pouring lube into his hand.

His hand on his shaft felt as though he was coming home after a long mission away and he found himself unconsciously matching Rodney's onscreen rhythm. He felt his thighs tighten and push forward as his cock sought more contact with anything, his hand not feeling like nearly enough, as his mind took him back to nights in Rodney's room.

Rodney's room, because Rodney had the better bed, and John was going to be the one to sneak out before the watch change anyway, and because John had traded away all his condoms early on in the expedition because he didn't think he'd be needing them. Rodney bent over at the waist, spreading the cheeks of his magnificent ass so that John could rim him. Rodney reaching back to touch John anywhere he could, as John thrust himself deep inside, to the accompaniment of Rodney's enthusiastic moans. Rodney bringing things to a crashing halt with his casual assumption that John, like Rodney, was only in it until something better came along, that something being first Katie and then Jennifer. Rodney, who never noticed that for John, there was no one else.

Rodney, on camera before him now, was alternating between jacking himself furiously and giving himself long, luxurious strokes, twisting a nipple until he made himself cry out. The sound of Rodney's pleasure sent a jolt of reaction through John; he could smell his own scent in the air, he could feel the movement of his hand on his skin, he could hear Rodney moan. It was almost as if Rodney was there.

"Oh, yes," Rodney murmured, the words triggering a visceral memory in John. Rodney underneath of him, his thighs resting on John's chest, his legs up on John's shoulders, his hand lazily jacking himself off as John pushed slowly in and out, a look of dreamy bliss on Rodney's expressive face.

John felt his orgasm mounting, his thighs and balls tightening until he reached the pinnacle of sensation and started pulsing hot fluid out over his hand. On the screen, Rodney had tipped his head back, eyes closed, and with his mouth open, he made a small wordless sound and began to come as well.

John sat, slouched down in his chair, feeling completely wrecked and suddenly conscious of the fact that he'd left a window partly open. He wondered if anyone had heard anything significant and he suddenly felt cheap and dirty, as though he'd taken advantage of Rodney when it was Rodney who'd made this video in the first place. He stood up to close the window, forgetting that his pants were down around his ankles and almost taking a header into to the table as a result.

He was glad there was no one around to see that. Pulling up his pants and wiping his hand on his clothing in the process, John saw in the video that Rodney was now making use of the tissues and speaking again.

"I can't believe I did that," he said, pink with exertion or embarrassment; it was hard to tell. "I did that for you, you know. And while I'm not ashamed of it in the way you might think, I do think it would be a good idea if you destroyed this file."

As much as he knew that Rodney was right, John wasn't sure he could do what Rodney suggested now that he'd seen the video. It was as though Rodney had made a personal, private gift to him and though it hurt to admit it, this was all he was ever likely to get. Having a copy, however, was incredibly risky to both their careers. John realized that he had placed the download on a laptop that technically belonged to the SGC and he felt the blood leave his face. Maybe he _should_ delete it. Maybe he should find a way to transfer it to something else. A personal flash drive or something. Something he could keep locked away in secret.

  
 _Like the rest of your life?_ Anger surged through him at the thought and he slammed his hand down on the desktop.

The cell phone made a blooping noise and John picked it up to read the incoming text.

  
 _Did you get it?_

John typed back. _I think you accidentally sent the file to the wrong person, buddy._ He waited impatiently for the bloop that signaled the return message.

  
 _Nope. Meant for you to have it._

John sat staring at the text for a long time, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

  
 _What about Jennifer?_ He texted at last.

There was no response for quite some time. John left the phone on the desk and broke his resolve not to use the mini-bar, mixing the little bottle of whisky he'd selected into the remainder of his soda and taking a deep swallow.

The phone blooped again.

  
 _A mistake. I thought I wanted the pretty blonde, the picket fence, and the 2.5 kids. I was wrong. I want you._

John sat down heavily in the desk chair again, staggered by what he was reading. He'd no sooner typed out _'we need to talk'_ when another text from Rodney came in.

  
 _I'm on my way to CO. Will be there by 10:30._

John texted back: _Call me when you arrive._

He laid down the phone again, glancing at his watch as he did so. It was just a little after 6 pm; he had hours to kill. He rubbed his chin and pondered whether he should shave before heading out to grab a steak somewhere. He decided against it when he recalled how turned on Rodney got at the feel of stubble against his skin. There was a moment of indecision, when he thought perhaps he shouldn't seem as though he was expecting or anticipating anything before he gave up. Not shaving was more typical and less likely to cause comment or arouse suspicion on Rodney's part, so that was the way he'd go.

Later that evening when the call came through, John gave Rodney the address and room number of the hotel in which he was staying. He belatedly wished he'd offered to pick Rodney up at the airport; the closer it got to the time he expected Rodney to arrive, the more restless he became. Finally, he threw himself down on the mattress, folded his hands behind his head, and willed himself to lie still, contemplating the ceiling. He calculated the time it would take for Rodney to land, pick up his luggage, get a rental, and drive to the area, adding an additional fifteen minutes to Rodney's ETA to keep himself from going insane.

It was after midnight when the knock at the door caused him to spring to his feet. He crossed the room in two strides, reminding himself that he was going to play it cool until he could see what Rodney really wanted.

Rodney blasted into the room as if they were still in Atlantis and it had only been minutes since the last time they'd seen each other. "Oh, my god," Rodney said, divesting himself of bags as he went. "You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get here."

John felt a little 'click' of recognition and suddenly all was right with his universe again.

Any resolve to stay cool flew out the window. John closed the distance between himself and Rodney, pinning him to the wall and kissing him hard.

Rodney seemed surprised at first, but he quickly got with the program and began kissing back, the hunger in his response feeling as real and solid as Rodney himself. Rodney was pink when John finally let him go. He seemed both pleased and embarrassed by John's reaction.

"Yes, um, well." He made no sense whatsoever. "I'm glad to see you too."

"I've been thinking," John said hurriedly, plunging forward when Rodney seemed ready to interrupt with what was, no doubt, a bitingly humorous dig at how dangerous it was for John to attempt to think.

"Me too," Rodney said with an air of confession. "A lot. About lots of things. Including what's really important to me."

John nodded, glad that he and Rodney were on the same wavelength. "Good," he said, hoping the relief didn't show too much in his voice. "Then I can count on you?"

A small furrow developed between Rodney's incredible blue eyes. "Count on me to do what?"

John took a deep breath. "I need you to help me steal Atlantis. Before it's too late."

Rodney held a look of blank confusion on his face until John could tell the moment it clicked in. It would have been worth stating his plan, even if John had not been deadly serious, just to see the myriad of expressions battling for dominance on Rodney's face. Outrage, incredulity, fear for John's safety, hopefulness, and speculation chased each other across Rodney's features like swallows darting in and out of a barn. A beatific smile lit his face. "Count me in," he said, tipping forward with a conspiratorial nod. "I take it you have a plan?"

John just grinned.

~fin~

  



End file.
